


About Time

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Anthea, Babysitting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is babysitting and needs Molly's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thINKture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thINKture/gifts), [LVFlick](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LVFlick).



> Here is a little something for ThINKture. You know me so well and are so eloquent! Thank you!

It had been a long day in the morgue and all Molly wanted to do was have a hot shower, throw a ready meal in the microwave, and watch mindless telly for a few hours. 

As she stepped out of the shower she could hear a text message arriving. When she was drying herself off she heard three more texts arrive in quick succession. She rolled her eyes and made no move to hurry. Given the frequency and quantity they must be from Sherlock.

Comfy clothes on Molly casually grabbed her phone. Flipping it over she found while in the shower she had missed five calls and 17 texts-- definitely Sherlock.

Hitting the phone app a small scream of shock escaped from her. In an instant her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking.

Not Sherlock -- _Mycroft_.

The texts were from him as well.

Before she could read the texts her phone rang. She answered quickly.

"Mycroft?"

"About time," came the exasperated reply.

"Is everything okay?"

"It most certainly is not. I need your help. Now. My car is waiting outside."

He hung up before Molly could ask just what was going on.  _Definitely Sherlock_ Molly thought as she grabbed her medical bag — just in case. Whatever it is — it must be bad

Moments later Molly was in the back of Mycroft's car being whisked across town.

//

She was deposited in front of Mycroft's town house — an elegant Georgian within walking distance of his office. 

As she approached the front door it was opened by a completely disheveled Mycroft.

His hair was a mess (he kept running his fingers through it nervously— even while answering the door), no suit coat, waistcoat or tie, top shirt button undone, sleeves rolled up and there was a large odd shaped moist patch on his left shoulder. The Ice Man mask was gone and for a second Molly thought he was going to hug her.

"Oh thank god." A wave of relief washed over Mycroft. "I have run out of ideas and don't know what to do next. Follow me."

"Okay," Molly muttered as she followed, closing the front door behind her.

As soon as she entered the house she heard it — a baby wailing.

"Mycroft! What the—" Molly was having to jog a bit to keep up with Mycroft's quick pace as he strode through his house, the cries growing louder.

Ushering Molly into his large kitchen Mycroft stood slightly back and watched Molly pensively as she survived the situation.

A navy blue high-end pram was parked near the French doors.  Nearby a matching nappy bag was sitting on the long rectangular wooden table with a selection of baby items strewn around it. Given the predominance of blues, greens and greys Molly didn't have to ask boy or girl.

As she walked over to the pram Molly could tell that its tiny occupant, lying on his back, face red with anger, little fists and legs flailing so much so he had managed to kick off his blankie, was furious.

Molly's face softened as she bent down to him, "Oh! Hello little man. You're so unhappy! What's the matter?" she inquired gently.

"He has been like this for the last thirty-four minutes," burst out Mycroft. "I have tried everything and I can't get him to stop. There must be something terribly wrong!"

"Let me have a little look," replied Molly calmly as she quickly washed her hands in the kitchen sink then returned to the still squawking baby.

"What's his name?"

"Daniel."

"Hello Daniel. My name is Molly. I'm just going to see if I can find what is troubling you. Okay? That's a good boy." She gently stroked his head then ran her hands down his body and over his tummy. "Ah," she replied enigmatically. "Have you fed him recently?"

"Just before he started crying," responded Mycroft with a worried look.

Picking up a burp cloth covered in tiny cartoon dinosaurs from the table Molly draped it over her left shoulder. Then she carefully picked Daniel up and put him over her shoulder and started to pat his back while moving her hand in an upwards motion.

Mycroft stood by nervously watching as Molly was trying to burp the baby. "I tried that before," he offered, hoping Molly didn't think he had just been staring at a wailing baby for the last 30 minutes.

"He has a lot of gas in his tummy. It's okay. You probably didn't burp him quite enough," explained Molly walking around the kitchen with an exaggerated bounce. Sure enough about three minutes later Daniel let out a burp so loud it caused both adults to laugh.

Daniel stopped crying, gave a contented sigh and fell asleep on Molly's shoulder almost immediately.

"Finally," Mycroft closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought by the tone of your voice I was going to find Sherlock OD-ing on your dining room table," said Molly in a quiet voice as she stood swaying, stroking Daniel's back. "Hand me that blanket will you?" 

Mycroft picked up the blanket that was draped over the pram handle and took it to Molly. He marvelled at the confidence Molly had with the baby. She easily manoeuvred the blanket around the baby while holding him with one hand. Pulling out one of the chairs from the table she sat down still cradling the baby over her shoulder.

"You have a number of nieces and nephews," Mycroft simply stated as he clicked on the kettle and took two mugs from the cupboard.

"Yes," Molly smiled. "Five." She nuzzled the back of the baby's head and inhaled deeply. "I love new baby smell," she quietly moaned. 

"Ever tempted?" Mycroft delivered Molly's tea to just within arm’s reach leaving plenty of space between the baby and hot liquid. _Someone has been doing his homework_ Molly noted.

"Absolutely! I would love to have a family," gushed Molly. "Still waiting for Mr Right to come along. But— you know— my job. I don't come into contact with many people who aren't corpses," Molly sighed with a bit of sadness.

Shaking her head gently as if pushing that thought out of her head Molly's gaze fell on Daniel. "Are you going to explain who this little one is?"

"He's Anthea's.”  Pulling out a chair across from Molly and Daniel, Mycroft sat down with his tea.

Molly's eyes grew wide. "You're kidding me! I had no idea she was pregnant! How old is he?"

"Just goes to show what a professional tailor can hide," replied Mycroft. "He is seven and a half weeks."

"And the father--?" asked Molly with a smirk.

"Is Anthea's husband," scowled Mycroft.

"Just checking," responded Molly with a cheeky grin. "So, Anthea is taking care of the big terrors tonight and you have been left with the little one?"

"Haha," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Like many new mothers Anthea is finding the transition to motherhood challenging at times. I offered to watch Daniel so she and Ian could have dinner and go to a movie."

"That is very sweet of you Mycroft.

"You say it like you are surprised."

Molly paused as she looked across the table at Mycroft, "I am. You don't strike me as someone who makes compassionate gestures very regularly."

"I don't. But sometimes it is necessary— for everyone's well-being." He watched as Daniel gave a shudder and began snorting and rooting into Molly's shoulder. After glancing at his watch Mycroft rose from the table, took a small baby bottle out of the fridge and dropped it into the bottle warmer that was already sitting on his counter.

By the time the bottle was ready Molly was once again bounce-walking around the kitchen chatting quietly to Daniel while he whined and sputtered his displeasure at having to wait for his feed.

As he was testing the milk on his wrist Mycroft caught the impressed look on Molly's face and did his best to ignore it while acting like what he had just done was a regular occurrence in his life. Pulling a fresh cloth from the nappy bag and draping it over his shoulder he walked over to Molly.

"Come on little one."

Molly was quite astonished to see Mycroft's large hands slip around the baby and pull him away from her. She watched as Mycroft, managed to shift the baby into the crook of his arm— safely, albeit a little clumsily. With a look of accomplishment on his face he picked up the waiting bottle from the table and sat down on the couch.

Mycroft was gazing adoringly at the little boy and talking to him softly as he brushed a tiny cheek with the bottle nipple causing the baby's head snap towards the food source and latch on greedily, causing Mycroft to give a little laugh. Molly could feel her insides turning to goo as she watched the scene.  

Smiling she started to tidy up the kitchen and make fresh cups of tea.

"You are very good with him," she said folding the rumpled up cloths that were on the table. "I would have never in a million years expected this. Do you want children?" she asked softly.

"Procreation has never been high on my to-do list," Mycroft's eyes flicked up to meet Molly's gaze "but I'm sure the right woman could rectify that."

Molly could feel herself blushing as she stood frozen, in the middle of folding a baby blanket. "Oh." was all her scrambled brain could say. "Umm. What happened to that tea I was making?" she added nervously, as she gulped hard and looked quickly away.

Smiling to himself Mycroft turned his attention back to the baby in his arms.

After Mycroft finished feeding Daniel and having handed him back to Molly to be burped, he dimmed the lights. Molly's gentle swaying and slightly-off key singing had the little boy fast asleep in no time. Checking the clock on the wall Molly laid the baby back in his pram.

"I should go. Anthea will be back soon. I've always found you get more babysitting jobs if the mum doesn't know you needed help," she said conspiratorially. "At least, that's the way my sisters work." Leaning over the pram she gave the baby a soft kiss on his forehead. "Goodbye baby. It was lovely to meet you. Be good for Uncle Mycroft so your mummy will let him babysit again okay?" It was now Mycroft's turn to feel a warm glow in the pit of his stomach.

At the front door Mycroft helped Molly on with her coat. "Many thanks Molly. I could not have coped without you."

"Anytime Mycroft.  He is a sweetie. Tell Anthea to put me on her babysitter list. And if you ever need any help with him again— you have my number." Molly gave a small wave and smile before turning towards the sleek black car waiting at the end of the path to take her home.

Mycroft had returned to the kitchen, checked on the baby once more and settled himself on the couch when a text arrived.

SMS: Movie over. Just making our way over. How did it go? - A

SMA: All is quiet on the Western front. Sound asleep in the kitchen. Use your key.  MH

 

//

 

Twenty minutes later Mycroft looked up from the book he was reading when he heard the soft sound of his kitchen door opening. He watched Anthea's face light up as she walked quietly to the pram to check on her sleeping son. 

"How was your evening?" Mycroft asked in a hushed tone.

"Absolutely brilliant. We can't thank you enough," Anthea was still gazing at Daniel. "And you? How did it go?"

"Fine. Fine. We were absolutely fine."

Anthea gave him a side eye. "How long was it before you called her?"

"I do not know what you are talking about," Mycroft guiltily shook his head.

"There are four cups of half-drunk tea in the sink. This blanket is folded end-to-end and you fold things side-to-side and you have that dopey look on your face that you always have after a trip to the morgue."

"Fifteen minutes," grumbled Mycroft embarrassed.

Chuckling Anthea began to pick up the final bits and pack the nappy bag. "And?"

"And what?" frowned Mycroft.

"While you were playing Mums and Dads did you finally work up enough courage to ask her out?"

He shook his head sheepishly. 

"Mycroft Holmes. A powerful man holding an infant. No woman can resist that. My guess if you had played your cards right tonight Daniel's wife would have been conceived right there on your couch," smirked Anthea.

 _Wow_! mouthed Mycroft "Motherhood has made you blunt ... I'll double your pay if you come back from maternity leave early. With you in this state we could get the Middle East sorted out in no time."  

Anthea snorted. "Stop changing the subject. You have been broody since you laid your hand on my 18-week belly and have had a crush on Molly for years. It's time. Ask. Her. Out."

"I can't possibly. What about Sherlock?"

"Sherlock? The man who will take the role of irresponsible Uncle to new heights? There will be no arguments from him. Molly happy. Your attentions directed elsewhere. A couple new crew for his pirate ship. It's win-win-win for him." Anthea gave Mycroft a broad smile as she slipped the nappy bag strap over her shoulder. 

"Again. I can not possibly refute your insights," sighed Mycroft.

"So?"

Mycroft responded with a nervous shrug of his shoulders. 

"Do not make me take away your babysitting privileges," threatened Anthea with a grin as she flicked the parking break off the pram and began to manoeuvre it towards the door. 

"You wouldn't dare,” countered Mycroft.

“Try me,” Anthea called over her shoulder as she walked through the door leaving Mycroft to follow.

 

//

 

Molly had just finished tidying up the morgue after the last autopsy of the day; lost in thought while washing her hands in the stainless steel sink. The sound of someone clearing his throat behind her made her jump and squeak slightly.

“Never, never, sneak up on someone in the morgue!” yelled Molly.  As she turned she found Mycroft, looking particularly formidable, in his usual Savile Row suit.

“Terrible sorry,” murmured Mycroft to a visibly unnerved Molly.

Realizing she had just shouted at the British Government Molly stammered her apologizes and wished the floor would swallow her up.

“My fault entirely. If you will permit me to begin again,” Mycroft tried (only with moderate success) to soften his gaze. “As thanks for helping me in my hour of need earlier this week I would like to invite you to dinner.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open in slight shock while her brain tried to make sense of what was happening.  Despite the power exuding from the form underneath the hand-tailored suit in front of her, visions of him holding baby Daniel were now flooding her brain causing her pulse to quicken.

After a few moments of watching Molly frozen on the spot Mycroft spoke in a quiet defeated tone, “My advances have caused you distress, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. Good day Miss Hooper.”

“Wait!” shouted Molly as Mycroft turned. “Yes, yes. I would like to have dinner with you. Sorry, sorry,” she stammered looking at the back of his head.  “It’s just— you surprised me— I don’t get many visitors down here,” she smiled nervously.

“I know." Slowly Mycroft turned around to face Molly with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

//

 

12 Months Later

 In the corner of Mycroft's kitchen there is now a Moses basket. The toys nearby are pastel and the blankets are mostly pink with tiny flowers and bunnies. 

Sherlock is standing over the basket watching the tiny baby girl with the ginger hair and ice blue eyes sleeping soundly. The look on his face leaves no question— he is besotted and taking his role of protector for the evening very seriously, while in the backseat of a sleek black car there is a new set of parents on their way to dinner. 

 


End file.
